


Massacre / Cremate

by wilyasha



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Character Study, F/F, Sexual Content, Sparring, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 23:31:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16028270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilyasha/pseuds/wilyasha
Summary: A character study on Brunnhilde | Valkyrie as she reminisces on her time with Hela before everything went south.





	Massacre / Cremate

**Author's Note:**

> These are a few short drabble-ish snapshots I quickly wrote after rewatching _Ragnarok_. It's most definitely not supposed to match completely with the MCU continuity; and it's about two characters who canonically 'hated' each other, but I can dream.

Blood coats her teeth. It drips, tacky and coagulating against her full lower lip. Another set of lips presses to the chapped skin, sucking down the thimbleful of gore. Hilde grapples closer to her opponent. There is a twist and a lurch before she manages to get the princess on her back. 

It’s always like this. Naked and bucking like wild bilgesnipes. Yet the skin beneath her own rough palms is smoothed by milk baths and cooling creams. A princess deserves the best. 

Hilde bares her teeth, grunting as she wedges herself between Hela’s thighs. Their sparring matches are always brutal yet affectionate. But what does she expect when immediately after every fight, Hela is left clinging to Hilde’s shoulders, lips searching for more. 

The valkyrie manages to get Hela in a headlock, her brown arms twisting like a python’s sleek body around the princess’ neck. 

“Yield, Hela,” Hilde murmurs.

Hela bucks, her arms slipping through Hilde’s grip. She grapples forward, swings her body upright before breaking the headlock in one smooth motion. A bark of laughter flies free from Hela’s mouth. 

“Fuck you, Brunnhilde,” she says, gnashing her teeth together.

Hilde wants to say something spiteful, acknowledge that their sparring match is a slip away from becoming a fucking marathon, but she holds her tongue. 

“Hasn’t the All-Mother taught you not to speak like that?” Hilde jests. “That word shouldn’t be in a princess’ mouth.”

“Keep my mother’s epithet off your tongue,” Hela spits, striking out with her curled fist. The shot hits Hilde in the shoulder, but it feels more like a playful pat. “Furthermore, I’m a warrior. I’ll talk any way I wish.”

“I wouldn’t change you,” Brunnhilde says softly before tackling Hela onto her back. She watches as the princess’ nostrils flare, a wild look in her grayish eyes just as she realizes she’s losing the fight. Hilde makes a move to feint, to pretend to lean away and give Hela the vague sense of hope. 

It works. Hela falls into her trap, like an anxious moth batting her wings against a spider’s web. Hilde feels the scrape of their leg hair against one another, the muscles of Hela’s arms, the curves of heaving breasts, the sweat on her back. It takes one more feint and their falling into their first position. Hilde has Hela pressed to the private training room floor. Her hands search out the swell of thigh muscle, hiking the princess’ legs higher around her waist. She pushes against her, rubbing softly before she smashing her swollen lips against the other’s. 

She tastes blood, smells it...heady, like Hela is in the middle of her cycle. Hilde’s gaze travels down to where they’re intimately pressed together. Wet slick slips between them, her swollen clit catching on Hela’s own flushed skin. The valkyrie slips a hand between them, searching and sliding her middle and ring finger into Hela’s tight heat. 

The princess lets out a sharp whine. So different from her normal contralto. She tightens against Hilde’s fingers. In one slight movement, the valkyrie adds her forefinger. Tremors travel down the length of Hela’s body; and Hilde coaxes her through her climax, sucks at her clit once, twice, and then the princess is shuddering wildly through a wet orgasm. 

Brunnhilde combs her fingers through the silky curls between Hela’s thighs. Soothing her as she whimpers through the sensation of defeat. It’s almost like she’s won. Almost. 

\--

While Brunnhilde practices with the other valkyries, she feels Hela’s eyes on her before she sees the princess. The distance between them grows more apparent just as the blossoms bloom so vibrant in Idunn’s orchard. Whorls of emerald and sapphire unfurl and grow. The distance is too great and before Hilde realizes, Hela goes to war.

\--

Family squabbles is what brought her to this point. An angry daughter and a lamenting father. A mother who has tried to play peacemaker and a young brother barely out of his thumb-sucking phase. 

Hilde breathes in the scent of rust and mildew. It’s so damp in this region of the afterlife, slightly palatable and wholly natural yet so disconcerting that it leaves her gasping for a breath of clean air. Her mount rests dead at her side, his wings mangled and torn from his shoulder blades. She doesn’t know how she makes it out of their on her own.

\--

The drinking starts. She guzzles back every acrid taste and every tangy ambrosia she can get her hands on. Anything to dull her senses even as she culls the ranks of the Grandmaster’s pristine fighters. How far the great have fallen.

Late at night, as she nurses on her bottle, she thinks back on Hela. Flush-faced and incandescent. Hair smelling like menstrual blood, knuckles gory after punching Hilde in the jaw. One uppercut. Two. She reels back as if Hela is there in front of her, nailing one blow after another.

“Is this a hallucination?” Hilde murmurs beneath her own foul breath.

“Yes,” says the illusion, black smoke and wrinkling nose. Flashes of gray-green eyes. They make Hilde’s gut clench and gorge rise.

\--

The brothers are adorable, all sinew and muscle but still those boyish grins. She’d fuck both of them if they weren’t clinging to life. If they weren’t fighting against Surtur and Hela and every warlord across the universe. It is only after the destruction of Asgard that Hilde realizes that they’ll have to continue to fight. That they are refugees floating in the great expanse without a home. _It’s her fault. It’s her fault. It’s her fault._

And yet Brunnhilde has some primal, residual feelings for Hela. Desperate to feel the curl of hands against her hips, to feel fingers thrust deep, to hear Hela’s throaty laugh. That same vibrant princess who went to war with a spear in one hand and a sword in the other, who devolved into a mass of envy and cruelty. How far the great have fallen.


End file.
